Canary Parasol
by Fanless
Summary: After Lord Maccon's untimely demise, Alexia is shocked by a confession of ardor, more or less, from one of the most unlikely sources imaginable. [Alexidama]


The Widow Maccon, neé Alexia Tarabotti, glanced through the patterning panes. Toying with the handle of her teacup, she sighed.

"Alexia, my darling."

Alexia glanced up, startled. It was hardly an uncommon occurrence to be addressed so familiarly by the flamboyant vampire, but almost never with such muted attitude. She hadn't been able to detect a single italic. "Yes, my lord?"

Akeldama looked at her through the loose locks of his golden hair. He was in notable dishabille tonight: a silk kimono embroidered with vermilion dragons of the Eastern variety, quite improper for even the most informal of company, but then his lordship had hardly been himself lately. Alexia felt a pang of pity for her old friend. The same explosive dirigible accident that had taken Lord Maccon from her so prematurely had also robbed Lord Akeldama of his treasured companion Sandalio de Biffano, known to his near and dear as Biffy.

"My dear. I have something to get off my chest. I am afraid I've been a bit circumspect about certain things."

"What is it?" Lady Maccon was worried. These last phrases, uncharacteristically direct, had been uttered in a tone most sober. Normally Lord Akeldama prided himself on being as airy as the innards of a dirigible. "If it is something personal, or about the... incident last month, you need only say so. Or not, if you feel unprepared to discuss it as of yet."

"Not exactly." He toyed restlessly with the tassel on the end of his belt. "That is, it is related. Somewhat. Oh... Alexia, my prize, I hardly know how to begin. I find myself at a positive loss for words."

Lord Akeldama at a loss for words? Something must be deeply amiss indeed. Alexia straightened, fixing her dear friend with her best no-nonsense eye. "Now, Lord A, this sounds no time for coyness. We are friends, are we not?"

It happened so quickly even Lady Maccon, whose reflexes had been remarked upon by many a BUR member with either the good fortune or dreadful luck to see her in action, had no time to react. Lord Akeldama was across the room in his favorite seat, and then he was not, most emphatically he was not; his slim thighs crossed her more curvaceous ones, his arms crossed each other as they wrapped around the back of her neck, cold only for a moment, and their faces made contact in a decisive, emphatic, nigh-desperate manner.

Alexia froze. Not only did she not dare to move, she could not without difficulty; her hands had rested in her lap, and now they were pinned there. Lord Akeldama eased up for a moment, a gasp of air he surely wouldn't have needed if not rendered fully human by her touch, then reapplied the unexpected pressure with a little moan that plucked at some soft and disturbingly resonant chord low in her belly. His lips were cool but warming the longer they stayed connected and dry but velvety. They tasted sweet with a rich tang, like champagne mixed with something altogether more metallic. The robe slipped with the small movement of his arms, leaving Alexia staring rather helplessly at an unprecedented expanse of still-pale shoulder. It seemed to last a long time, and every moment another scrap of what she had known whirled away.

"That, my dear," he breathed at last, lips pressed still so deeply against hers that they opened and closed together, "is _exactly_ the problem I face."

She did not bother to excuse herself properly, simply stood up and dislodged him, letting him tumble to the floor vampiric again, turned and pushed the doors open. Her lips stung as if swiped with acid. The empty hallway warped in front of her. Too sudden. Too soon. Alexia prided herself on being unflappable, but this was a wind from such an unexpected direction that she felt she had not only flapped excessively but had entirely come loose.

"Alexia." Akeldama pattered up behind her, hair in disarray and distress written all over his perfect face. "My duck, my darling daffodil, please — "

"How long?" she demanded, still striding.

"I'm not quite certain you would really want me to answer that."

"Why did you not inform me?" Alexia rounded on him, fingers atwitch. She dearly wished she had not abandoned her parasol back in the sitting room. "Why all the nonsense with — with — with _everything_, if you had... esteem for me before this moment? Why the moping and silence? Why, my lord? Why?"

He was silent.

"I never invest in undertakings I believe to be entirely hopeless," he said at last.

Struck dumb for the second time in recent memory, Alexia stared at him. She saw the downcast eyes, diamond clarity refracted suspiciously damply further, the bare feet small and white against the luxe carpet like stunned doves, the elegant hands twisted, the white fangs nearly piercing the lip they nipped anxiously at, the unshielded shoulders still bare and protectively curled as she had never seen them. He looked very small and milky without the doll-like rouge and the glitter.

"Would you care to discuss it further?" she said at last.


End file.
